


Stick it to the man

by Morningside



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, I can't believe I'm the first person to use the Matt/Stick tag ahahaaa, M/M, NOT UNDERAGE. DEFINITELY NOT UNDERAGE., Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stick-fic is sick-fic, dubious everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morningside/pseuds/Morningside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill: the fight at the end of ep7 turns into something that Stick has wanted for a long time.  (Spoilers: it's sex.)</p><p> </p><p>(I wish I were sorry for the title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stick it to the man

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Stick is NOT a nice person and he knows all the right buttons to push. They fight, like in the show, but with a bit more wandering hands. Matt can't help but to submit. Give me absolutely filthy sex between these two and Matt being ridiculously turned on despite himself. Maybe he used to fantasize about this when he was a teen? (Stick DEFINITELY used to fantasized about doing this, but please make it so that this is the first time anything of this nature happened between them). Bonus points if you can make it daddy kink without actually mentioning the word "daddy" plz.
> 
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2861774#cmt2861774

Stick is a liar, a murderer, and a manipulative cheat. He's a monster who kills children even as he turns children into killers.

He's also mean as hell when he fights, and at the moment, he has Matt pinned on the floor of his own apartment.

Stick's on top of him, his weight heavy across his thighs, a crushing forearm pressing on his windpipe, a hand harshly gripping his hair. He jerks against the hold, but it might as well be for show.

"You never could get out of this one, could you, Matty?" Stick chuckles. "You talk a big talk, but you're still just an angry little boy."

He sputters, indignant. Stick rasps out a laugh, then grinds their hips together. Matt bucks into the electric shock of contact, then tries to curl away as if burned. He's still pinned. He can practically feel Stick's smirk against his skin.

"And you still haven't learned any control. Disappointing, kid. I'd hoped for better."

"The hell is this?"

"Don't try to act all high and mighty on me. I remember how your little prick used to get hard when we sparred. I never said anything, tried to spare your feelings, but," he sighed heavily, "I guess I was too soft on you. Once again."

"I don't -"

"Are you really gonna try to lie to me, kid?" Stick begins a slow, insistent rut against him. "When I can feel how hard your dick is getting? When I can feel the heat coming off your face? You're real pretty when you're embarrassed. Always were."

"You're sick."

Stick grunts, then suddenly peels himself off Matt, lifting himself again to a fighting stance. Alone, on the floor, Matt feels naked without the crushing heat of his mentor's body.

"C'mon, then. Prove me wrong. Show me you've learned some control - and if you can't do that, then show me what _else_ you're learned."

"I'm not doing this," he tries to protest, but then a beer bottle is sailing towards his face, and he's rolling to his feet. Stick rushes him, feints, then gets a good punch in his gut. While he’s doubled over, Stick smacks his ass, hard. Matt yelps indignantly.

“At least you’ve kept _this_ in good shape for me, kid. Bet I could bounce a quarter right off it.”

That sparks Matt’s humiliation into a flare of rage. He starts swinging blows so fast that a few even land. “My body” _thud_ “isn’t” _thud_ “yours.”

But Stick snags his wrist and twists it behind his back so that he’s pressed against Stick’s chest. Normally Stick’s other arm would go in for a headlock - they've been here many times before - but instead, his left hand insinuates itself under Matt’s shirt, working its way up his chest. Matt gasps, knowing it’s no use to hide his response. “I’d say that everything you are today is because of me. Mentally. Physically,” he grinds appreciatively against Matt’s ass. Stick is appallingly hard against him, and he’s – God – he’s appallingly hard against his constricting trousers. “I put you together, kid. Don’t think I don’t know how to take you back apart.”

Matt jolts his head back at Stick’s nose, but Stick is already ducking. He twists Matt’s arm as he bends, and agony shoots up past Matt’s elbow, but Matt uses the change in position to flip backwards over Stick. Stick spins, catches his foot, and they end up tussling on the ground. Sticks hands are all over him, invasive and unpredictable, and Matt can only twitch in their wake. Stick bites him, literally _bites him_ where his neck joins his shoulder, and that’s something entirely new that stuns him just long enough for Stick to grab the waist of his trousers and painfully yank them, belt and briefs and all, down to his thighs. Matt scrabbles to retrieve his dignity, but Stick takes advantage of his panic to trap him facedown against the floor, their legs entwined. Stick worms a hand under Matt’s body. “Just as I thought,” Stick sighs against his ear, “no discipline at all.”

Stick fondles his balls and Matt shudders.

“But this is how we learn. What’s the first step in fixing our weaknesses?”

“We have to find them first,” Matt recites tonelessly.

“Good, kid. So you haven’t forgotten everything. I’ve seen you weak as shit, you don’t have anything more to lose with me. Show me what you’ve got, show me what you need.”

And then Matt’s 12 all over again, working himself to exhaustion just for a grunt of approval. Holding his back so straight, trying to be so much older than he really was, stiffly bowing as if the antiquity of the pose could add years to his life, could erase his boyish need to be held and loved. And through it all, Stick molding him into something harder, stronger, then snapping him back into boyhood with an unexpected gift or an exclamation of praise in which Matt could discern a single note of stern affection. Stick was his whole world, his family and his body and his senses and his purpose and his mind, right until he vanished into the night and left another ragged hole of lonely shame in Matt’s heart.

And now here he is again, touching Matt more in a single evening than he did in all those years of training. The fight seeps out of his limbs. Stick maneuvers him onto his side in a mockery of spooning, one arm wrenching his neck backwards.

“Cross your ankles. Press those thighs together for me, and keep them tight. Control. Let me feel how those muscles have grown.” He runs his free hand up Matt’s flank. “Mmm, not bad, kid.” His voice is dispassionate, assessing. Stick shoves his own pants down, then slowly thrusts his cock into the tight heat at the top of Matt’s legs. Matt groans at the tease against his balls.

“You like that, huh? Surprise, surprise.”

Matt nods against Stick, not trusting himself to speak. It’s terrible and freeing, not to be able to lie.

Stick continues the slow tease. His flow of words drops into a croon. “Don’t you worry, Matty. You’ve got to leave these friends of yours, you know you do, but you’re not gonna be alone. Ole Stick will always take care of you if you let him, that’s a good boy. We’re in this together.”

“You _left_ me!”

“Get over yourself and I’ll make you better. I’ll teach you how to control these urges, how to make them into something better. And once you learn real control, Matty, then I can teach you how to really let go. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Stick –”

“Ask me to touch you, Matt.”

He only manages a hoarse, pleading rasp.

“Can’t you even control your mouth? Work for it!” he snaps, all gentleness gone from his voice.

“Your hand. My dick. Please, Stick.”

“There we go.” He wraps a rough hand around Matt and pumps him in time with his quickening thrusts. It’s too dry and the grip is all wrong, but Matt’s body thrums like a plucked string at the touch.

“Stick…I’m close…I’m gonna…”

“Already? Jesus, control yourself! Don’t you dare.”

“I can’t…I…I…”

“Pathetic,” Stick growls, and Matt comes in his hand with a cry.

Stick grunts scornfully and wipes his hand on Matt’s rucked up shirt. He pinches the back of Matt’s slackened thigh in reprimand – “tighten up, show me you’re good at something” – and begins to determinedly fuck Matt’s legs. He’s gone silent, now, breathing in time with his thrusts like a machine. Matt lies there, hot-faced and dazed, until Stick goes rigid and spills between his thighs.

They slump there, wrapped in the reek and thrum of their sated bodies for a long moment.

Matt is the first to speak. “Can you let me go now? I think I’m gonna pass out if you don’t move your arm.”

“Crybaby,” Stick grouses as he has a thousand times before, as if nothing has changed. But he does as he’s asked. Matt rolls away from him, panting up at the ceiling.

Stick rises to his feet. Matt doesn’t follow. “Well, kid, I gotta say I expected more of you. I’m proud of you for showing me how far you’ve fallen to shit, but we’ve got a long-ass road ahead of us.”

“We don’t have any road. There is no we.”

Stick snorts. “You really gonna get self-righteous with your dick hanging out?”

“My home, my rules.”

“Kid, your little rules mean nothing.  You have no idea how far in over your head you are. You need me if you don’t want to die. And I think you need me for more than just the war. You want someone you can be honest with? Someone who knows who you really are? No pretty girl is gonna give you that.”

“Get the hell out.”

“You really think you can take me leaving again? Poor little Matty, all alone in his big, bullshit bed?”

Matt pulls himself to a crouch and pitches the second beer bottle at Stick’s face. He dodges it easily with a nasty laugh. It explodes on the wall behind him. “I’ll take that as a no. Well, you know where to find me now. Just give a shout when you’re ready to face the truth, and then Ole Stick really _will_ teach you everything he knows."

"Get. Out.

"You take care of yourself. Try not to get killed. It’d be a shame to let so much work go to waste.”

**Author's Note:**

> morningsided.tumblr.com. New account, new fandom, on the lookout for new friends. If you enjoyed this, let's be horrible together.


End file.
